


A Difficult Circumstance

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Because hi, Bodyswap, F/M, Fluff, Inappropriate Humor, Post-ACOWAR, Rhys is involved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-11 00:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12310761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: Rhys and Feyre make a deal with Cassian during a drunken evening at Rita’s, and the next morning they are startled to find out that magic does not understand irony. Or jokes. And apparently does not care about the amount of drinks one has imbibed and will take you seriously.





	1. Chapter 1

Throwing her right arm across the bed, Feyre was startled to find that instead of resting on a warm, familiar body, it met air. The edge of the bed. She didn’t want to open her eyes quite yet, and so she felt around for the sheets, trying to figure out how far the edge so she knew how far she had to go until she fell off. This was not her usual side of the bed, but she wasn’t quite surprised to find herself at odds with her habits. 

She and Rhys had spent the previous evening at Rita’s, with Cassian, Mor, and Lucien. She vaguely remembered drinking. Well, that was a lie. There was drinking, a lot, and laughing, which always came from having that group gathered. There were the usual dares, Cassian threatening to tell the waitress that Mor had a crush on her if she didn’t do it herself, Mor trying to teach Feyre how to dance. It was a failure, as usual, but at least they all got a laugh, and they would leave her alone for the next few months because hey, at least she tried. 

Feyre assumed that she and Rhys had fallen into bed together at the end of the night either too exhausted to figure out who normally went where, or perhaps he had flipped her over there in some sort of alcohol-induced sex game. Either way, she was fairly certain that she had slept too long and Nesta or Amren would come barging in any moment. The idea of rubbing either of them the wrong way when they had a full day of work ahead of them was enough to make Feyre groan out loud. 

The voice that came from her lips, however, was decidedly not her own. It was deep, and although it was familiar, it was not supposed to be there. 

Clearing her throat, Feyre groaned again, with intention. It felt a bit silly, like she was a novice actor trying out different moods, but when Rhys’ groan came out of her throat again, she sat up in bed. She was quite well-acquainted with that sound, having pulled it from him many, many times before. An uncanny sense that she was perhaps still asleep hit her. Feyre squeezed her eyes shut. She clutched the sheets in her fists. When she opened her eyes and looked down, she would see nothing out of the ordinary. She would find a reason why, with her eyes closed, she didn’t feel the usual brush and weight of her hair on her shoulders. There was a logical reason; she must have put it up before passing out. That wasn’t something she normally did, but she also didn’t usually wake up on this side of the bed, with a male voice coming from her throat. 

When she opened her eyes and looked down at herself, Feyre was at turns horrified, confused, angry, and curious. A low no escaped her throat, and she searched her memory for what had happened the night before. 

Dancing. Drinking. Dares. 

That was it. This was all Cassian’s fault, and when she got ahold of him… 

Feyre was looking at a body that was nearly as familiar to her as her own, and yet… it was definitely not hers. After realizing that her hair was not as long as it should be, she also found that she had developed a penis, which rested between two thighs that were decidedly more muscled than hers could possibly ever be. 

Yes, she knew this body. And it was not her own. 

Rhys shifted on the bed, and Feyre froze. She hadn’t looked at him yet. She couldn’t imagine what would greet her, and she looked up at the ceiling, preparing herself for whatever had happened to her mate. Rhys turned over, away from Feyre, and patted the bed, looking for her. He, too, met air, unused to being on this side of her. Feyre watched him in horror as he realized his mistake, as she had, and turned to face her. 

With her own face. 

Feyre screamed, wincing at how odd her feminine scream sounded coming out in masculine tones, and jumping out of bed, she backed into an armoire so hard that it shook, clothing falling to the bottom inside. 

“Who are you?” she managed to get out, every word feeling like a struggle. Not because she was hungover or trying to wake up. No, if anything, she was far too conscious and aware of what was going on. Well, not exactly. She wasn’t sure exactly what the fuck was going on, but she knew Rhys’s voice when she heard it, and she had never heard it coming from her own throat. 

“Feyre?” he said, blinking himself awake. Rhys sat up and clutched his throat. “Feyre, Feyre, Feyre,” he repeated, saying her name with different inflections, raising and lowering the tone of his voice. He tried a surprised _Feyre!_ and then a shocked _Feyre…_ and then tried lowering his voice a couple of octaves to match his normal range, but only succeeded in making himself sound ridiculous. They would have laughed, if they weren't so busy trying to figure out what the hell was going on. 

“What. The. Hell. Who are you?” Rhys jumped out of the bed when he looked over at her and realized the person he was talking to was _himself_. 

They eyed one another, each in a defensive posture, and yet… not. Neither of them were comfortable in their skin, and Feyre hoped that the person who wore her face was Rhys, not some third party who had managed to get roped into their late-night drinking games. 

“It’s me. Feyre.” She cleared her throat again, the repeated motion beginning to chaff. She needed water. She needed water, a pain-killer for the hangover that she was hoping had somehow magically skewed her perception, and she needed to go back to bed and wake up on the right side of it. 

“But you’re me. I mean, you look like me,” Rhys answered. 

“Ok, I answered your question, now you answer mine. Who are you?” To her chagrin, Feyre’s voice came out squeaky, which she hadn’t known was possible, given Rhys’s usually deep, soothing tones. Normally she would never betray her nerves in a situation like this, but this… she had never experienced anything like this. What made it worse was that the person she would turn to was no longer in his own body, and she didn’t know what to make of it. 

“Rhys. It’s Rhys.” His shoulders - her shoulders - drooped slightly in relief. But only for a moment. He crossed his arms. “I think I’m going to have to ask you to prove yourself.” He was trying to stare her down now, and the effect would have been comical, were it not so terrifying for Feyre to watch herself take on the role of High Lady who would be taking no one’s shit. She was oddly confused and pleased to see how well it worked. 

“Why do I have to prove myself? What about you?” 

Rhys refused to answer, didn’t budge an inch. 

Feyre sighed. “Fine. Ask me anything.” 

“When you accepted the mating bond, how many times did we have sex, in what positions, and what rooms of the townhouse?” 

“Rhysand! First off, it was in the cabin, but nice try. I’m also not going to answer any of those other questions since you are a complete idiot, trying to make a joke at a time like this!” Feyre had moved away from the armoire and gestured wildly about the room, her surprise at his question tempered by the fact that she should have known he’d ask something like that. 

He nodded. “That’s fine, I know it’s you. Now, ask me something.” 

“I’m not going to ask you anything,” Feyre answered, “only you would come up with a test so ridiculous.” 

“You're probably right.” Rhys sighed, then reached up and cupped his new breasts. “Huh. Interesting.” 

“Please don’t do that.” Feyre grimaced. She could barely stand to look at herself, not to mention watch Rhys wearing her face while fondling himself. 

“Why not? You let me do this all the time. You quite like it, if I remember yesterday morning accurately.” 

“Yes,” Feyre replied, “but now it’s just creepy. Stop touching… yourself.” 

“Fair enough.” 

They watched each other awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed until Rhys figured out what Feyre had already deduced, and he growled out a name. “ _Cassian_.” 

“Yes. Cassian. The bet. Apparently, verbal contracts while drunk are still binding. And we must not have lived up to our end of the bargain.” 

“Right.” Rhys started to pace across the room. “We need to fix this. As much as I love you, Feyre darling, I don’t think I can spend the rest of my life in this body.” Realization dawned on his face and he reached down, grabbing between his legs. “Cauldron boil me…” He turned white as a sheet and Feyre yelled at him again to stop fondling himself - or rather the other parts of himself that he found there. 

“What are we going to do?” Feyre felt herself on the verge of tears, the hangover and the body switching and the bet she had lost and all the work she had planned for the day weighing down on her. 

Rhys strode to her and they fell together for a moment, awkwardly adjusting for a height difference that made Feyre feel she were embracing a child. She wondered what it felt like to him, to embrace someone so much larger than himself for once. But then she remembered that Rhys had known Lucien and Cassian intimately far before she had met him, and figured that was his reference point. 

“I will fix this, Feyre, I promise. We just need to figure out if we can still hold up our end of the bargain, or perhaps break the original deal we made.” 

“And what do we do in the meantime?” Feyre asked. 

“I mean, we could…” Rhys looked down at himself, then at Feyre. Neither of them were wearing anything, and Feyre wondered if she wore her intentions on her face so clearly any time she tried to make any sort of innuendo. Then, she reminded herself that the “horny, inappropriate” role in their relationship was always played by Rhys. No need to worry there. 

“Rhys, are you kidding me?” Feyre couldn’t help but try to clear her throat at almost every word, as if somehow her usual lilt would return and she wouldn’t be speaking with her mate’s voice. She knew the bond was strong, but she had never wanted to be quite this close to him. 

“Yeah, sure, you’re right. Let’s get this figured out.” Rhys crossed the room and pulled on a soft cotton nightgown that Feyre kept draped over a nearby chair. Twirling his hips slightly, he watched it flare. “Hm, dresses are fun,” he said to himself. Looking up at Feyre’s horrified expression, he walked around the bed to grasp her hands. “Feyre, I will fix this. I promise. But first, I have to kick Cassian’s ass.” 

“Cassian can’t find out,” she said, the name followed by a slight noise from deep in her throat. If she couldn’t get that impulse under control, everyone would figure them out. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that I don’t want him to know he won. I want to… mess with everyone for a bit, first.” 

“Feyre, darling. I do believe that’s the best idea you’ve had in ages.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys and Feyre make their first foray outside their bedroom and see how well they can keep their secret under wraps. Spoiler alert: it’s harder than it looks.

“Rhys.”

He turned back towards Feyre, halfway through the door.

“You need to get dressed before you go out there.”

“Oh.” He looked down at himself, wearing the black silk nightgown that he had bought Feyre as a surprise the week before. “You’re probably right. I’d say the same for you, but I’m sure you have thought ahead. You remember where my closet is, right?”

“Yes. Why is your closet so far away?” Feyre grumbled.

“Because you have a lot of clothes and I gave the walk-in closet to you.”

“You’re the one who buys me all the dresses, I can’t be blamed entirely. They can be really heavy.” Feyre was pouting and she knew it, but there was something she needed to do, something she was dreading.

“You love all the dresses, Feyre darling. And now I get to try them on!” He noticed her hesitation and stopped his progress towards the closet. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell you something.”

His breath hitched in his throat. “What is it?”

“I need to use the restroom.” Feyre pronounced the words as if it were the worst news they’d had all morning.

“Why are you telling me… oh. I see.” They looked at one another awkwardly as the full import of having to live in someone else’s body came to bear. Of course they knew each other well, their mouths had tasted every bit of skin on one another’s bodies, even the parts that never saw the light of day, and yet this was an entirely new level of intimacy.

“We will never speak of it again. Unless you want to. Do you want me to show you how?”

“I think I can figure out how to piss, Rhys. Thanks.” Feyre was torn between crying, though she knew that once this was all sorted out they would have many, many private laughs over all of this. At the moment, however, she needed to make her way to the bathroom, and then try to remember where Rhys’s closet was so she could get dressed.

“Meet me downstairs? And remember, we aren’t letting anyone know what happened. Not until we figure out how to undo this mess.”

“Affirmative.”

“And Rhys?”

“Yes, Feyre?”

“Please… act like me. Not yourself.”

*****

Feyre strode into the dining room, where Cassian and Mor were already seated and noisily arguing over something.

“No, but that’s the thing, Cass!” Mor pointed her knife in his general direction. “Even if you have some random magical powers, I don’t understand how you have the dexterity to get yourself dressed every morning without help. How do you get your shirts over your wings?”

“Usually, I have help.” Cassian winked at her and shoved a forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth.

Mor rolled her eyes. “I don’t doubt for a minute that you could, but I know for a fact that you don’t.”

Cassian sat back in his chair with an expression on his face that Feyre guessed was supposed to communicate how much Mor needed to shut up.

“Rhys! Good morning. I was just explaining to our Morrigan here the way that most Illyrians find themselves clothed and presentable in the morning. It’s a combination of magic, and always being sure to have a bed partner, isn’t that right?”

“Um, sure.” Feyre scrambled, trying to remember anything that Rhys had told her about his time in the training camp. “That’s why we’re all so close, me and you and Az.”

“Right…” Cassian trailed off, unaware if he was being made fun of or had just been outed for something they had all been sworn to secrecy about. Feyre bit her tongue and reminded herself to give Rhys some shit for this, later.

“So where’s Az?” Feyre asked.

“Oh, he’ll be here soon. He was up at the crack of dawn, as usual, so this will be a good break for him,” Mor answered.

Feyre began to sit in her normal seat to Rhys’s left, and realized that it was wrong. For Rhys, that was. Making a show of tapping her fingers on the back of the seat, she said, “Huh, I wonder where Feyre is. Those females, am I right?” She looked pointedly at Cassian, and when he responded with a confused look, she slumped down into Rhysand’s usual seat. Grabbing a plate, she piled it high with food.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Feyre asked. Mor usually kept track of these things, knowing better than anyone what was going on in the Court of Nightmares or around the Night Court. Feyre had a suspicion that she and Azriel worked closely in this regard.

“Not much, I’m pleased to report. We just need Feyre’s input on a few things,” Mor answered.

Feyre looked up from her plate. “I can take care of that.”

“I don’t think so, cousin. This is a project that the two of us have been working on for months, it’s way too much information to get you caught up on.” Mor took in a forkful of egg and eyed Feyre. “Besides, don’t you have to meet with Eris later?” she asked after swallowing.

Feyre groaned. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

When Rhysand entered the dining room, Feyre suppressed another groan. He had chosen a gown that she would only wear on special occasions, a fact that Mor would surely notice. It was far too fine, the material and cut making it more fit for company with other High Lords and Ladies, rather than a normal weekday breakfast.

“Feyre, you are looking rather fancy today. What’s the occasion?” Mor asked.

“Oh, you know,” Rhys answered. “I just thought I’d get some more use out of these wonderful dresses that Rhys had made for me.”

Rhys walked over to Mor. Before she could react he bent over her and embraced her as best her could, which was quite awkward given that she was still sitting.

“Feyre, what are you doing?” Her voice was muffled, but not unamused.

“I just wanted to say hi. You are my best friend, right? After Rhys? So I am just saying hi.” Rhys sat down and smoothed the skirt of his dress over his thighs. Giving Mor a broad smile, he began to pile his plate full of food. His expression darkened when he noticed Cassian sitting across the table from him. “Cassian.”

“Feyre, darling,” Cassian said in a mocking tone. “I was wondering when you would show up. I was just about to ask my friend Rhysand here how he was making out with the hangover. The two of you had quite the time last night.” Cassian bit a piece of bacon in half and watched the two of them, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Well, whatever we did,” Feyre said, “We are fine now. No problems, right, Feyre, darling?” She reached over to grab Rhysand’s hand, which he took eagerly.

“You’re right, of course. No problems at all. I’m not really sure how we got home, but that’s not much different from a normal night spent at Rita’s.” Rhysand gripped Feyre’s hand and she squeezed it back.

 _They can’t know,_ she sent down the bond. With a start, she realized that she had spoken with her own voice. In that, at least, they could be themselves.

 _I know. Don’t worry, Feyre, I won’t blow this. Not if it means a chance at revenge._ Rhysand looked over at Feyre, and then frowned when he noticed that she was wearing a white shirt underneath a tailored black jacket.

 _What are you wearing?_ he asked.

_Just something I found at the back of your closet. Why?_

__I didn’t realize I owned anything white, that’s all,__ he responded. A beat as she raised her eyebrows. __It’s just that no one ever sees me in much else but black. It’s… something I work to maintain. You know, my reputation._ _

__Well you’re wearing an evening dress to breakfast, so who’s to say you can dress me better than I can dress you?__

___Fair enough,___ Rhys replied. Releasing her hand, he turned to Mor. “So, what are we up to today?”

Mor set down her fork. “You know what we are doing, Feyre. How could you forget?”

“Ha ha, of course, how could I forget? I mean it’s so important, obviously I know everything about it and I was just testing you, in fact, so let’s eat and then get right to work!” Rhysand began digging into his plate, when Cassian interrupted him by clearing his throat.

Rhys looked up. “Yes, Cassy?” He smiled broadly, trying to get used to the feel of the pet name in his mouth.

“You don’t eat eggs, Feyre. You’ve always said they gross you out.” Cassian set down his own fork, joining Mor in looking between the two of them with skepticism.

“Oh, you know,” Rhys replied. “Sometimes you just need to change things up.”

When Amren and Nesta walked into the room, Rhys and Feyre breathed sighs of relief. Maybe if they weren’t together, with two of the people who knew them better than anyone else, it would get easier. Having a strained relationship with Nesta was something Feyre was used to, and Rhys should be able to pull that off perfectly.

Nesta sat at a chair while Amren stood behind her, bracing herself on its back.

“Good morning, everyone,” Amren said. For all her bluster, she was generally even more of a people person than Nesta, and Feyre said thanks for small favors that two people who detested small talk had come into the room.

“Rhys, Feyre,” Amren continued, “I’m glad to see you up and about. I was sure that the bet you made with Cassian was going to hold.” She looked at Rhys and held his gaze. A minute passed, and then another, during which they took one another’s measure.

Cassian let out a bellowing laugh. “I forgot about the bet! Rhys, I bet you’re glad that it didn’t actually take effect, right?” He stood and clapped Feyre on the back. She grabbed the edge of the table to keep herself from slamming into it.

Rhys walked up to Cassian, finger in his face. A quick glance back at Feyre had him trying to wipe away anything other than good-natured humor from his expression.

Rhys adjusted his shoulders and clapped Cassian on the back. Feyre winced. He was supposed to be her, not himself, and even as himself Rhys didn’t go in for that whole boys’ club thing.

“Yeah, good thing that bet didn’t hold, Cass,” Rhys said. He gripped Cassian’s shoulder a bit harder than he should have before walking over to Mor.

“So, Mor, let’s go do the thing. The very important thing that I know about and definitely did not forget.” With a glance over to Feyre, he sent her a quick message. What the heck are you two up to?

Feyre gripped her napkin. _ __I wasn’t going to tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise._ _ _

Rhys raised his eyebrows at her and then pulled Mor’s chair out from the table as she stood, until he realized that it was highly unusual for a woman to do such a thing.

“Just helping my friend out,” he said by way of explanation. Mor muttered thanks, and asked a servant for her cape.

___I am establishing another library for refugees. Or helping to, at least. In the Autumn Court._ _ _

Rhys nodded, understanding immediately how important this project was, and why Feyre had wanted it to be a surprise. They watched each other for another minute, the oddity of seeing themselves through each other’s eyes still not fading.

Mor called for Feyre, and Rhys turned on his heels.

“Oh, right. I’m Feyre. Coming!” Rhys went off with what could only be called a feminine bounce, and Feyre took a deep breath, wishing she could think of some god she believed in that might help her get through the day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys and Mor spend their morning in a meeting with Beron. It doesn’t go as Rhys expects, but afterward he learns exactly how close she and his mate are.

Rhysand joined Mor in the foyer before they left. “So, we are going to a meeting, right?”  
  
“Yes, we just need to consult with Beron about the feasibility of the library. If we can convince him that it’s worth it, we can get all the other High Lords on board.” Mor gripped Rhys’s arm and tilted her head. “Are you ok today, Feyre?”  
  
“Of course. I think I just had a bit too much to drink last night is all. Why?”  
  
“You just seem… off.”  
  
“Maybe it’s this meeting. Beron is no one’s favorite person.”  
  
Mor snorted. “True. Let’s get this over with and hopefully we can have a celebratory drink and break the news to Rhys, right?”  
  
Rhys nodded. “Not too many celebratory drinks, though.”  
  
With that, Mor winnowed them to the Autumn Court.  
  
*****  
  
When they arrived, Mor and Rhysand-as-Feyre were told to wait in a grand reception hall. The hall was silent, guards posted at the entries being the only other souls present. There was nowhere for them to sit and no one offered them a seat, nor were they offered refreshments.  
  
“Typical Beron,” Rhys mumbled.  
  
“What’s that?” Mor asked.  
  
“Oh, just stunned by Beron’s hospitality, as usual.”  
  
They waited for ten minutes. Then twenty. Rhys shifted on his feet, quietly swirling his dress around his legs. When Mor glanced at him, he stopped. “I just really like this fabric,” he said by way of explanation.  
  
After a half hour had passed and they still had not been attended to, Rhys was about to find Beron himself, when the High Lord of Autumn walked in. Settling himself on the oversized, ornately-carved wooden throne, he greeted them.  
  
“Feyre. Morrigan.”  
  
They each lowered their heads slightly in deference. Rhys expected the same gesture in return, but instead Beron raised his hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn. Rhys straightened his posture, realizing that this project was important to Feyre, Mor, that it could be of assistance to women in this court, and so diplomacy would be needed. Even if he really would rather walk up to Beron and rip his crown off his head and place it on someone else’s. Like Lucien’s.  
  
“Beron. Good to see you,” Mor crooned.  
  
Looking over to Rhys, Beron spoke. “So, Feyre, what can I do for you this fine morning? You have a proposal for me, I hear?”  
  
“Yes,” Rhys replied. Two minutes in and he was already seething, but he put a damper on his anger at being so disrespected. “But before we begin, we have a request.”  
  
“Already? Let’s hear it then.”  
  
“Some seats would be lovely,” Rhys said sweetly.  
  
“Ah, yes.” Beron raised his hand lazily and a guard bowed before leaving the room and returning with two high-backed chairs. Placing them before Rhys and Mor, he bowed again before scurrying back to his position.  
  
Rhys and Mor took seats, but as she settled, Mor pulled a rolled parchment from the folds of her dress and handed it to Rhys. This must be the proposal, then.  
  
“You may proceed.” Beron gave another gesture that was hardly distinguishable from the one he had given the guard moments before.  
  
“We have a proposal, as you know. All of the details are written here.” The guard approached and Rhys handed the parchment to him, which he then passed it to Beron.  
  
Opening the papers, he took a moment perusing the information. He gave no indication of what he was thinking about the idea, and Rhys only had a vague notion of what the document contained. Luckily, Feyre had given him that hint before they had left. There was no telling what she was up to at the moment, and any communication between them might further complicate and confuse matters. So he kept his peace, waiting for Beron’s feedback.  
  
“So, you want me to establish a sanctuary here, for females who have been abused?”  
  
“Yes,” Mor said. She gripped the armrests of her chair. “Rhysand and I have one currently in Velaris, and it has proven very successful. The women are rehabilitated, and then they work there, keeping records and such. Their work has been invaluable. And of course they are grateful for the chance to find healing, and work.”  
  
“Why do you think such a thing is necessary in the Autumn Court? Perhaps your lands are more prone to violence than others, Morrigan.” Beron smirked. He was baiting her, Rhys knew, but she took it surprisingly well.  
  
“Violence against one another knows no court boundaries, High Lord. As you well know. And there are certain populations who are more vulnerable than others.” A tremor had come into Mor’s voice, and Rhys wanted to reach out to sooth her. He knew how much this meant to her, the trouble she had gone through to establish their own library, the sleepless nights, the care she took in learning each female’s name.  
  
“This is a step in the right direction, we believe,” she continued. “Fighting against human enslavement was one step. Now we should take care of our own people.”  
  
Beron nodded his head in contemplation. “I see. And you think that I should bear that responsibility?”  
  
“As High Lord, yes.” Mor looked to Rhys.  
  
“I agree. I am your equal, Beron, despite how you have handled this meeting, and I understand the position you find yourself in. It is a difficult one that comes with many responsibilities, but we owe it to our people to care for them as best we can,” he said.  
  
“You understand my position, do you?” Beron laughed. “Perhaps women should learn self-defense instead. Or maybe they should make sure that their fashions are not such that would prove too tempting for the fae males of my Court. I don’t know how you do it, Feyre, when you and your cousin here” - Beron looked Mor over from head to foot in disdain - “insist on dressing so scandalously.”  
  
“Look here you bag of wind,” Rhys said, jumping up, “You are responsible for these people, females included, and there is no cost to you, literally none, if you just get your head out of your ass and do what you know is right. So do it. Prove everyone in Prythian wrong when they say the High Lord of the Autumn Court would as soon kick a dog as he would help out the citizens of his court.”  
  
Being in Feyre’s body seemed like a sort of freedom, until Rhys realized it wasn’t. Spitting out insults like this would never do, even as Rhysand, and he suspected that in this body, the implications would be even more detrimental.  
  
He began again, calmer. “There are attitudes in this court, and in my own, that are detrimental to the safety of others. Such as those you just gave us a fine example of. But the victims are never at fault, especially when there are predators who know that their High Lord would just as soon dismiss their actions as punish them. It is up to you to set an example, Beron, of the values you expect to see from those who live in your court.”  
  
Beron stood slowly, as if he had been waiting for Rhysand - or Feyre - to lose his temper. “I will take this into consideration. Despite your inability to handle your emotions, I do see the value in putting these females to work.”  
  
“And rehabilitating them,” Mor added. “This isn’t a way to amass a supply of slave-labor, Beron.”  
  
“Yes, well, we will do what we can. Perhaps I will ask you back to consult on some of the finer details, and bring Rhysand with you. I’d like to know his views on this.”  
  
“You know his views on this,” Rhys said, “Since he and I speak as one. He is not necessary for this project. My cousin and I are more than capable.”  
  
“Either way,” Beron replied, “I will inform you of my official decision soon.”  
  
“In one week, if that please you.”  
  
“One week?” Beron asked.  
  
“Yes. We are meeting with Kallias, Tarquin, and Helion in one week. We would like to have good news to share with them, if you decide to move forward,” Mor said.  
  
“I will notify you as soon as possible, then.” With a wave, Beron dismissed them, and Mor winnowed them back to Velaris.  
  
******  
  
“Does that happen often?” Rhys asked Mor, once they had installed themselves at Rita’s.  
  
“Does what happen often?” Mor asked.  
  
“The way he made you - us - wait. The way he talked to us…” Rhys shook his head.  
  
“Come on Feyre, you’ve been around these fae for a while now. You know how they are. It seems you are learning a lesson, though. Having power and a title hardly matters, not when you don’t have a cock between your legs. And apparently even the High Lady of the Night Court is no exception.” Mor finished her drink. “Bastards.”  
  
Rhys had witnessed others disrespect his cousin more times than he could count, he had been jeered at while Under the Mountain, called names, been in power struggles with other High Lords, but this morning had been a different experience. He had walked into that room at a disadvantage he hadn’t realized existed. At least Under the Mountain, he had made a choice to sacrifice himself and his reputation. But Feyre, she had never done anything except dare to be female. The idea that anyone would treat her like this, even as High Lady of the Night Court, made his blood boil. And at the same time, he felt completely helpless.  
  
“Mor, can you promise me something?”  
  
“Sure, anything, Feyre.”  
  
“Will you tell me when something is bothering you? Will you let me know when this happens in the Night Court, without my knowledge?”  
  
“Feyre, I can handle myself, you know. I’ve been dealing with my father and others for centuries.”  
  
“No, it’s not about that. It’s just… I want to make sure that my expectations are clear. To everyone. For everyone. This isn’t just about Beron, or even about Keir. Tell me if you witness it happening to anyone else as well.”  
  
“Ok. Sure.” Mor grinned and signaled for the waitress to return to their table.  
  
As she placed their order, Mor began stumbling over her words and even blushed once or twice. Rhys eyed her warily.  
  
“What was that about?” He pointed at the waitress as she walked away.  
  
“Oh you know, we’ve been flirting for a while.”  
  
Rhys paused.  
  
“Hey, Feyre, you said you were going to try to set me up. What about helping me smooth the way with her?”  
  
Suddenly, things began to click. The way Mor always tried to convince them to come here, to Rita’s (and he was well aware of its reputation as a haven), her refusal to give things a try with Azriel, the way she could be so secretive about some lovers, and then flaunt the others in everyone’s face.  
  
Rhys lunged across their small table and hugged Mor.  
  
“Mor, you are my favorite person, you know that, right? And if there is ever anything you need from me, you don’t hesitate to say, and also Rhys, you can tell him anything too. Don’t you worry about that.”  
  
“Ok,” Mor said, extricating herself from Rhysand’s hug. “I know, Feyre. Don’t worry.” She smiled at her friend and High Lady. “Let’s drink to progress, shall we?”

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on an ask I received on tumblr, asking what would happen if feysand switched bodies. A bunch of headcanons were born, and now this fanfic. I have no idea how long it will be, but it will pretty much keep going as long as I have ideas for these two.


End file.
